


The Cost of Living

by Razzy_ShamelessNerd



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics), Under the Red Hood
Genre: Explicit Language, Jason is a human wrecking ball, Jason killing monsters, Supernatural AU - Freeform, jtbdayweek, punching the feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-15
Updated: 2018-08-15
Packaged: 2019-06-27 23:04:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15695166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Razzy_ShamelessNerd/pseuds/Razzy_ShamelessNerd
Summary: Day Five of Jason Todd Birthday Week, 2018: Supernatural AUThis was the price for him to keep living. He had died but he had also come back. He should not be here. In the grand clockwork order of the universe, Jason Todd was an anomaly. His name had been written in Death's book, but at the same time, he was very much alive. A paradox. So he'd been offered a deal -- kill the monsters and he could stay. Death needed a hitman and Jason fit the bill.





	The Cost of Living

He saw her as he walked out of the small corner market with a bag of groceries under his arm. It'd been years, but he'd never forget how she tucked her hair up like that. She didn't look the same as she had before his life really went to hell -- she looked fuller, less starved, and younger, like for the first time he was seeing the real, essential, her.

Jason glanced around. At four am, the street was fairly empty, a reason he shopped here a little more often than most. He jay-walked across the street and sat down on the bench flanked by two sickly trees. She didn't say anything. To all appearances, she looked like your typical Gotham dweller, fashionably dressed in her cotton gloves and long wool coat, waiting for the bus. For some reason, she always wore the clothes he'd imagined she should wear, instead of what she'd been able to find at the Salvation Army. Clothes that a lady _deserved._  He sighed heavily and rummaged in the bag, pulled out a protein bar and began to unwrap it. "Another?"

She nodded, the motion caught just from the peripheral of his vision. It hurt to look at her. It hurt to see her so close and know it wasn't really her. He wanted it to be. He'd ran right into death to find someone to fill the void she'd left. How ironic that he only saw her when someone had to die.

"It's a deal-maker, right? Another crossroads deal. I swear, that'll make seven this year."

She smiled at him, hazel eyes crinkling at the corners. Even that hurt to watch, so he glowered at his boots.

"No, no deal this time, except our own."

"Yeah, yeah I know. Time to pay Rent." Something in the way he said it made it capitalized, just like the first time he'd heard it. He sighed, taking a bite of the protein bar. "So, who is it?"

"There are no words for their kind anymore, but the black sorceries are still found in some places. This one uses them to hide from even me. Only exposed when it cheats me of my purpose."

Jason quirked an eyebrow at that. "Magic? You sure you want to toss this one to me, boss? Magic is a little out of my league. Hell, it's even out of _Batman's_ league."

"You must handle this," she said, confident. "This being has been weakened by use of the black sorceries it employs to evade me, and you're the only one I can trust to eliminate its blight." As she spoke, she handed him a small white envelope.

"Sounds like I should volunteer for the CDC the way you say it..." Jason muttered. He already knew what would be inside the envelope before he opened it. An address, sometimes a floorplan, maybe even directions on how to kill this particular quarry. And a name. Always a name, written on fragile vellum with red ink, in an elegant hand.

_**Melissa Rose Perron** _

Beneath it, the directions read, simply, _Dagger_.

Dammit. A woman. He hated killing those the most, even though they could barely be called as such anymore. Not after what they did to warrant falling into his sights. "So, what's 'it' do? Vampire? Demon binding? Virgin sacrifice?"

She shook her head. "Not in the usual sense." The breeze that fluttered in the trees didn't touch her, didn't tug a single strand of hair from the neat bun. Creepy. "I warn you Jason, this being has lived a very long time, always eluding me. It has grown powerful. Even though it has been weakened by taking a new host body, it is powerful." A cotton glove rested on his hand, warm and soothing. It was a mother's warmth, calling to him to come back home. "If you cannot remove it, then you will be. I am sorry, Jason."

She _did_ look sorry, and he hadn't a doubt in his mind that she truly regretted the situation. Still, he pulled away from her touch, his mouth feeling dry. "But rules are rules. I get it. Well if I can't kill it, I'll die trying, right? That's always been the deal."

He stood, picking up his bag of groceries. "How long do I have?"

She stood as well, smoothing the folds of her coat. "Tonight."

Jason rolled his eyes, scowling. "Dammit. Alright, I'm on it." On instinct, his eyes flicked over the street, watching for any unwelcome attention. He never stopped looking over his shoulder. It's what kept him alive at twelve years old on the street and it kept him alive now. "Any more advice on-- fuck."

She'd disappeared while he'd been looking away. Sighing, Jason hefted his bag and started making swift strides toward his nearest safehouse. "And I thought Batman had that trick patented..."

 

xXxXx

 

Jason only had thirty minutes to do research. The Perron's were a family of some modest wealth. Enough to afford nice cars, but not expensive ones. They lived in a small townhouse in one of the nicer parts of Gotham where many of the men and women in blue also lived. Though older, the structures were well kept, neighbors would collect mail for each other during long vacations, and crime seemed distant. They were a good family, a hard-working one. Mr. and Mrs. Perron had been high school sweethearts, worked hard, and now owned a string of successful small businesses throughout the city. Small stuff. Bakeries, flower shops, book stores. They were good, decent people that lived scrupulously and gave back to their neighborhood when they could. They had a kid, a cat and a hamster, the latter two of which lived in an uneasy alliance. There were flowers in the planter boxes outside every window.

They did not deserve the hell of having their lives ripped apart.

Unfortunately, that's exactly what he came to do.

Red Hood lay flat on a rooftop of the townhouses across the street, looking through a spotter scope. He kept his left side pressed as flat as possible against the chimney, trying to make his profile just one more little lump on the dark silhouette of the roof line. Coms were off and he'd removed the GPS unit in his helmet before embarking on an hour-long ramble through the city, changing clothes three along the way, before ending up here. The last thing he needed was for a Bat or his helpers to get in the way. This was something Jason _had_  to do if he wanted to keep sucking air.

Besides, it was justice, of a sort. Just one they weren't used to meting out.

The house was quiet. Even with his nightvision scope, he could pick out no movement, not even a flicker of light indicating someone shambling to the bathroom. Unfortunately, sniping his way out of this wouldn't be an option. This time he had to get close, practically intimate with the false immortal lurking inside. Fantastic.

Just once, he'd really appreciate these assholes waltzing down a shady Gotham alleyway where he could take the shot ten blocks away and be back on his couch before the police ever arrived. But that's Gotham for you -- constantly making the impossible a necessary impediment to life. Hell, these days, an honest job with a livable wage fell into that category more often than not, and he should know.

Packing away the scope, he resigned himself to a stealth mission and started carefully slipping down rooftop. Best chances were to circle back around and approach from half a block away at the corner. Unfortunately, these things had no backyards, so there went the backdoor option.

As he approached the building, he cast an eye at the sky. Impossible to see stars, and the lurid orange hue of the city glowed on the clouds like it was already burning. By the time he had gotten back to his place, fully geared up, and found his target, he had less than 90 minutes to land the kill. This was gonna be close.

But then, weren't they all?

Best point of entry were the windows. Anyone that could afford it and wasn't a complete idiot always bought the best security system they could get. Even though every way inside would be wired with an alarm, at least windows were considerably faster to unlock, and hopefully get him right next to his target. And the second story ones were never barred. If he could do this quick, end it with just one slice of a throat, he might get lucky. Might traumatize only one person when Mr. Perron woke up next to his dead wife.

The security system was one of the best on the market, upgraded twelve days ago. It was good. Very good. It was also made by a company owned by Wayne Enterprises.

Jason circumnavigated the security system and unlocked the window in nine seconds. He slipped in silently, closing the window behind him. No need for the smell or noise of the streets to disturb this. As much as he detested this, he could at least do it cleanly, quickly. Reduce what needless suffering that he could.

Red Hood found himself standing in a cozy master bedroom. It was tidy and comfortable and well lived in. The couple soundly asleep in bed had made this their home, set their roots down here despite the weight of Gotham's darkness. These were the kind of people that only a city like this could breed: A strangely resistant strain of humanity that could not be warped by the darkness closing in. They planted their lives here and managed to thrive, like a tree deciding to grow in a crumbling parking structure.

Moving carefully, rolling his weight from toe to heel, he circled around the bed making no noise. He had to go slow, settling his weight -- which he had a lot of and did _not_ help in times like these -- with extreme care. These were nice buildings, but hardly brand new. Squeaky floorboards could give him away.

As he went around the corner of the bed, a board groaned slightly under his foot. He froze, heart hammering so fast he was sure they could hear it. Mr. Perron sighed a bit, shifted in his sleep, and didn't move. Jason waited three minutes before lifting his foot and setting it down on firmer ground. Almost there.

He finally came to the far side of the bed, where Mrs. Melissa Perron slept. Jason crouched slightly, on instinct, though he doubted it'd make much difference here. As a kid, living on the streets, he'd developed a sixth sense of when a _presence_  loomed over him. He'd struggled to describe it to Bruce once; the closest he could get was likening it to a heightened awareness of shadows spreading over him. But Mrs. Perron slept soundly, completely unaware of the dangerous man standing above her.

As Jason approached, he drew the kris dagger from a sheathe on his belt. Gifted to him by Talia, then imbued with power by an unending entity, there never existed an objected more steeped in death than this one. The flame-shaped blade maintained a razor sharp edge, no matter how much abuse it went through, and after its empowerment, the metal had gained an odd obsidian sheen to it. Instead of light running down its edge, darkness rippled instead. Four runes had also appeared on each side of the blade. They bore a vague resemblance to some Sumerian symbols but other than that, his research revealed nothing.

Closer. He had to make this quick. He'd reach out, cover her nose and mouth in one hand and drive the long dagger under her chin, through to the brain. As fast and painless as he could make it.

Dammit, he hated doing this. The uglier beasts he'd been assigned to take out he had no problem putting down. But this? When they looked so peaceful and human and totally innocent? That made it harder, even though he knew it was just camouflage.

One gloved hand reached out to clamp down on her face when some irregularity he'd noticed earlier finally processed.

Ms. Perron was at least five months pregnant.

Jason's teeth ground together as his every instinct screamed in outrage. Goddamn body-hopping sonofabitch. He'd seen some pretty weird, whacked out crap, but jumping into an unborn child? _Dammit._  He couldn't do this. He couldn't kill a pregnant woman, no matter what she carried. Maybe... maybe just the child? How would he do that though?

Holy hell, was he really debating out to cut out a possessed, unborn child from a pregnant woman's belly? Oh God... no, no he couldn't. He _wouldn't_. Bile rose in the back of his throat and he took a step back, using tight, controlled breaths to keep his gorge down. Vomiting inside an enclosed helmet was _not_ a good idea.

Suddenly, that heightened sense of his, that feeling of a _shadow_  lapping over him, screamed out a high alert and his head snapped toward the bedroom door.

A door that had been closed but now stood open.

A little girl, about seven years old, wearing Pretty Pony pajamas, and glared at him with cold, ancient eyes. As he watched, her sclerae turned coal black. The daughter. Named after her mother. Melissa Rose Perron _Jr._

_Oh, fuck._

The girl screamed as she slashed a hand in his direction, an inhuman, violent wailing that shattered every piece of glass in the room. The mirror, the windows, the vase of silk flowers, the glass of water -- they exploded as if all had been hit by the vigilante currently getting blasted off his feet like he'd been hit by a massive, invisible fist. The force hit him _hard_ , knocking him clean out of the room, into the master bath, and through the drywall, depositing him into a kid's room. It had well and truly knocked the wind out of him, and for a few seconds it took all he had to painfully gasp and wheeze for air. _Can't stay down.... I'll be dead... they'll all be dead..._

He rolled to his side, getting his feet underneath him. Bits of crumbled drywall rained off his jacket as he stood. Both parents had woken up screaming bloody murder -- mostly because of the violent explosion of chaos. Then the screaming reached a new intensity when the vicious Red Hood started climbing back through the holes his heavy ass had made in the walls. Mrs. Perron, being the tough Gothamite she was, dashed forward and slammed the door shut on him, locking it.

He had to give her credit, that was pretty slick. Brave thing to do.

It did absolutely nothing to slow him down. One well-placed kick with his size 12 boot blasted the door off its hinges. Mrs. Perron was already running for her daughter. On the far side of the room, her husband had leveled a shotgun at Jason.

He had no time.

"Melissa, NO!" Jason roared. His hand whipped out, scooping up the bedside lamp, and flung it at Mr. Perron in the space of a heartbeat. The man flinched, the shotgun roared, and the wall behind Jason gained fresh holes like black pepper. But Jason was already moving, lunging forward before--

The girl's black-blue eyes snapped toward her mother, just inches away from scooping her up.

Mrs. Perron gasped as pure force slammed into her, knocking her into the air. She flew upward as if hit by an uppercut. Her feet kicked in the air wildly, eyes wide with uncomprehending shock. Her unborn child had a lifespan of less than a second before she hit the ground.

Jason caught her, locking his arms around her and pulling her tight against him, absorbing her impact. He'd nearly caught her straight on, but the imbalance was enough. They spun and started to go down. Jason used every muscle in his body, screaming from the imbalance and torque he demanded of them, to make sure he hit the floor with her on top of him, Mrs. Perron and her pregnant belly safe and unharmed. He arched his back, shoved her off him and sent her rolling under the bed. He barely managed to swing his feet over his head and roll backwards before a blast of force slammed into the space they'd just occupied, cracking the hardwood floor with a sharp snap.

Jason knelt, the dagger in one hand and held out ready to strike. Even through the helmet, their gazes locked. Her lips peeled back in an unnatural snarl, a guttural growl boiling out of her throat. Both of those attacks hadn't been as hard as the first blow. This _thing_  was conserving its energy. If it was this strong while weakened, he didn't want to see what it could do fully charged.

For a moment, they froze, locked in wary assessment, waiting for the other to move.

The shotgun broke the stalemate. Nine ball bearings travelling at 1,250fps slammed into his back, right at the shoulder blades. He grunted from the sudden impact, bringing his forearms up to absorb the shock of his fall as he slammed forward to the ground. He'd barely shaken it off, quickly rolling to the side to avoid the next one, when another bolt of force smacked him aside like swatting a fly. He skidded across broken glass and splintered wood and hit the wall again, shoulder-first. Something bone-deep twinged painfully and he knew a tendon injury when he felt one. Pure training and survival instinct forced him to move, kipping up to his feet just in time to avoid another shotgun blast to the mouth. A quick side-step got him some cover inside the bathroom before the shotgun shredded the jamb.

"Gotta be fuckin' kidding me..." he muttered. He couldn't really blame the man, though. If he'd found some armed and known scourge of the underworld in his bedroom at piss-o'clock, he'd be trying to shoot him dead too.

Mrs. Perron had regained her breath and clamped both hands over her ears, frantic, jumbled prayers tumbling from her lips.

"GET OUT OF MY HOUSE YOU SONOFABITCH!" Mr. Perron bellowed. He emphasized the statement with another blast of the shotgun.

Jason knew it wouldn't work, but he had to try anyway. "I'm not here for you! That isn't your daughter! Her EYES!"

The second the words left his lips, he knew he'd screwed up. He'd just blown the thing's cover. Now it had no choice but to erase all witnesses.

He heard a soft "Wha--?" before another gasp of shock and the shotgun hitting the floor. Jason whipped around the corner of his cover, grappling gun in hand. He fired. The slim, super-strong cord wrapped around the man's upper left arm and Jason planted his feet the full weight of a human being snapped against the line. Mr. Perron's arm popped out of joint with a meaty crunch and he screamed but didn't go flying out the shattered window. He hit the floor hard, but alive.

Before Jason could move, that invisible fist smashed into him again. This time, he only left an impressively deep hole in the wall instead of going through it. He grunted, wheezing. He had a death grip on the kris, the only way out of this mess.

Little Melissa Rose growled black-sounding words at Jason, her hands contorted into claws and head dipped low from her shoulders, looking oddly like a vulture. The feral look transformed her from a little girl to a violent beast, barely recognizable as human. "Yeah yeah," Jason snarled, "You kiss your mother with that mouth?"

Mrs. Perron, whimpering, started to crawl away on hands and knees over broken glass. The movement drew the things' attention. Its' smile made Jason shudder. He dropped the grappling gun and drew the more lethal gun instead.

"HEY!"

Her head twitched toward him and she hissed. Even her movements were birdlike.

He shot her four times in the head, right between the eyes. They landed one right on top of the other, _bang, bang, bang, bang._

Melissa's head snapped back, stumbling a few steps. Then she stopped, freezing in mid-fall. Her neck eerily crickle-crackled as she righted herself again, knitting the whiplashed tendons back together. Her chin no longer pointed at the ceiling, tipping downward with more pops and crackles.

The first thing he saw were her unnaturally sharp teeth, blackened, stretched into a wide grin. The cheeks were hollowed, thin, starved. One by one, the bullets were spit out onto the floor with weighty thuds. The blood on her face traveled backwards like a time-lapse in reverse, pouring up the bridge of her nose and into the hole, which disappeared like it'd never been. Its laugh sounded like a shaken bucket of mud and rocks.

"Right," Jason said. "Dagger."

Melissa crooked a thin, pointed finger at him, snarling those tar-like words again. Behind her, shards of broken glass and mirror rose up into the air. Then they all pointed at the terrified pregnant woman on the floor.

"You piece of--" He hurled himself forward, twisting mid-air to turn his back -- one of the most heavily-armored places on his body -- toward the incoming attack. He landed on his bad shoulder which twinged even more painfully again, but he'd made himself a barrier just an instant before shards of glass impaled his jacket. They cut cleanly through the armored leather -- meant to stop bullets, not blades -- but the ceramic plating of his body armor stopped them cold. A sharp hiss escaped him as more than one found the literal chinks in his armor, burying deep into his flesh in the gaps between plating to allow for flexibility. Mrs. Perron cried out as shards of glass struck her bare legs. They glittered like crystalline shrapnel.

"Go, go!" He'd already started shoving Melissa Senior toward the bathroom as he rolled over and, producing his gun once more, fired. The bullets couldn't kill the bitch, but at least it slowed her down. While she reeled from the impact, he got to his knees, planted both hands under the bedframe and flipped it over. It hit the floor with a bang. Rocking back on his butt, he planted both hands on the floor, and kicked powerfully with both feet. The bedframe, in no way a cheap construction, went sliding across the room. Another round of glass shards thudded into it uselessly. It bowled the witch-girl over, who squawked in outrage, stopping only when it hit the doorframe.

Yeah, adrenaline will do that.

"GET OUT OF HERE!" Jason snatched up Mr. Perron and all but flung him across the room after his wife just in time before the bedframe went flying, smashing into the far wall. With a metal groan it fell to the floor, separating him and the couple.

Melissa Rose Perron Jr. stood in the doorway. She looked like a famine survivor, the flesh melted away down to the bone. Her once fine, blonde hair had fallen out, replaced with black patches of what looked like scales. He'd worn it down enough to start drawing too much energy from the host body. The transformations had already started. It'd need a new host soon. Maybe even the poor couple here. Or the baby. _Like hell._

It glared at him as he stood, blood and glass dripping from his back. He ducked and spun to the left, the armoire behind him exploding into splinters as he dodged its' attack. As he came around again, his hand whipped up and he unloaded another magazine into the damn thing. It staggered, screeching as he dashed forward, blade at the ready. He just had to get close. One thrust and it'd be--

Black-yellow eyes flared and an invisible rope tightened around his ankle. Automatically he twisted in mid-motion, the blade in his hand lashing toward the rope he could feel there--

But sliced into nothing.

_Aw hell, this is gonna hurt._

Of course, because his back hadn't suffered nearly enough abuse tonight, he got whipped into the ceiling first. He made a wild swing for it with the dagger, hoping to at least resist the damn spell, but no goo. Even as he swung, he was being snapped around like the end of a bullwhip. Against the walls, the floor; the magical power of the false immortal smashed him against the metal bedframe, flung him side to side like a dog would to a rat. He broke more than one rib at least, stabbed by some metal right in the thigh again. He could do nothing but endure the abuse. He'd had worse, after all. At least he wasn't tied up this time around.

Finally, the creature dropped to its knees and Jason hit the floor one last time. For a moment, he couldn't move. He just lay there, hanging onto consciousness and telling himself repeatedly to not black out. Definitely a few broken ribs. God knew what else. At least one thing had been dislocated. It took a bit of his rattled brain power to isolate and locate where _that_  particular throbbing sensation was centered around. His right arm? Crap. He could still feel the dagger in his hand but that cut his range of movement severely.

"That all... you got... you sonofabitch?" It would've sounded better had he not been wheezing from the broken ribs, but hey, work with what you got. "My dad... beat me up... worse 'n you..." Which, to be fair, was true. On both counts.

Rolling onto his side, he gasped at the spike of agony in his side, struggling to maintain the grip on his dagger. His hand was starting to go numb. No sooner had he gotten a knee under him, when an inhuman hand closed on his throat. Even through the armor, he couldn't breathe. Black fingernails dug into the small gap between his neck and the helmet, drawing blood.

The camouflage had been shed. The girl had withered away, leaving a skeletal husk remaining. The youthful skin had deteriorated, peeling off in long strips to reveal more slick, scaly black patches. Half the skin on the face had sloughed off like a melted rubber mask. What peeked out from behind what had once been a little girl could only be described as warped and demonic. It might have been human, once. But the lambent yellow eyes held utterly no soul. Only hatred and fear. Its voice slithered out on a forked tongue, hushed and creaking like ancient pines swaying in the dark.

"Thissss body.... is _mine_ now...." The hunched over thing possessed hideous strength, the long arms easily lifting him up. Something scratched at his helmet and he could almost feel the fingernails winnowing into the hairline seams that opened the helmet. His HUD flashed a warning then winked out as the back was torn clean off, and the rest soon followed. The reek of rotting flesh hit him so hard he would've puked had his airway not been squeezed shut. "Look... at... meeee...."

His boot heels scrabbled against shattered wood and broken glass as it lifted him higher. He felt a strange _tugging_  on his mind, a compulsion to open his eyes and stare deep.

"Loooook...."

"Ffffuck... you...." he rasped.

The hand on his throat slammed him against the wall, once, twice, three times. A deafening ringing in his ears drowned out whatever insult it snarled. His heels kicked at the the wall, the steel-toed boots thudding into its bony midsection uselessly. It had no stomach, merely a long spine held together with blackened sinew and withered flesh. Its' true form. He tasted blood in the back of his throat as he wheezed and choked. Something deeply _wrong_  in his chest stabbed him with more blinding pain. He was hurt pretty bad but it didn't seem to care. It needed a new host and in all the false immortals he'd hunted down and killed, they shared one universal trait: Hubris. Taking the body of the one trying to kill it was just too good a gloating victory to pass up.

A cold talon sliced down his cheek, drawing blood. "Sseeeee...." it hissed.

Jason's eyes opened. He looked deep into the urine-colored eyes. He saw.

He saw a man, a healer, a shaman. He saw a civilization wiped out by plague and he saw all the healer's powers come to naught. He saw bodies left to rot where they lie, swarms of flies gathering in the sky like omens, and bloated corpses writhing with the gross squirming of maggots under the skin. He saw a fear of being alone, left to die unburied and unmorned. He saw a man's faith in the natural orders of life and death warp into hatred and terror of the great abyss. He saw greed for life, and deals with alien minds that were distant, vast, and cruel. He saw the death of a man and the birth of a monster.

The pressure on his throat released abruptly as the creature stumbled away from him, shock painted on the ruin of a face. "Revenant!?"

A dark smile twisted his lips. "That's right, you bastard. I paid my dues. An' the Devil's come collecting."

It hissed, eyes narrowing -- but the attack never came. Jason just leaned against the wall and nursed his ribs, breathing shallowly. "Dunno if it's my speed... or the sharpness of the blade..." He sucked in a breath, closing his eyes against the dizziness, "But most don't even feel it go in."

The kris dagger, embedded up to the hilt in the shaman's chest, began to glow with flame-colored light. The creature howled in pure, abject terror, trying to tear it away, screaming and begging in an ancient tongue. Jason just watched, feeling tired. The fight was over. He'd seen these theatrics a hundred times or more. It beat its body on the ground, writhed and contorted, pleaded and cursed while the sullen red-orange light from the runes grew brighter and brighter. Jason was too tired to care about any of it. Strangely, he found his thoughts wandering distantly as he watched the fiery light enclose the beast like a glowing blanket. He always wondered what they saw when they looked in his eyes. Did the see the bilious green of the Pit?

Or maybe, did they just see the abyss, staring back? It'd make sense. _He who fights monsters..._

The thing on the floor that had once been a man flailed about in the broken glass. Then its back arched, bending its whole body into a bow, only the heels and head holding it up as it let out a long, blood-curdling howl torn from many throats. A sound that came straight from hell. The light winked out and a little girl's body collapsed to the floor. She looked peaceful, no terror, no pain. Just nothing. There was nothing left.

Jason slid to the floor, wheezing, feeling blood bubble in his throat. Outside, the first early chirps of birdsong were rising to greet the coming dawn. He'd done it. He'd killed it before sunrise. Time to get leave but God help him if he could move. He just sat there, feeling the pain throbbing throughout his body and staring at the body of a little girl that had her life torn away from her. On the far side of the room, huddled together and terrified, the Perron's sobbed quietly, still frozen with uncomprehending terror.

A breath of cool air, faintly scented with jasmine and the smell of rain, is all that heralded her arrival. _She_  stood there next to him. A cotton-gloved hand touched his sweaty hair, combing aside the white streak in his bangs. He looked up at her, and she smiled. "You've done a good thing tonight, Jason. You've freed all the souls he ever fed upon. Thank you."

His eyes closed automatically as she laid a gentle kiss on his brow. It wasn't _her_. He knew that. But it felt like a benediction and a comfort and his guard was battered enough to let it slip through unprotested.

Jason never knew why Death appeared to him as Catherine Todd, the only true mother he'd ever known. Maybe because Catherine had loved him like her own, even though she didn't have to; the only person that truly wanted and accepted him no matter what. Death came as a comfort and a friend, to ease the fear of transition. No one told him that but somehow he just _knew_. Call it personal experience but one thing he knew for certain is that Death is kind.

It's dying that's cruel.

Catherine Todd -- Death -- knelt beside the young girl and placed a fingertip on the hilt of the dagger she had imbued with strange power and strange runes. She spoke but the words made no sense. He doubted it was a language ever known to man. A muted red-orange light traveled from the depths of the dagger, up the hilt and into her palm. A small ball of light laid in her cupped palm. Then her fingers closed around it and it snuffed out.

Death had claimed the false immortal that had cheated her for so many countless millennia. Catherine looked at him and nodded. "It is done."

"What about them?" He nodded to the couple to the side, who were deep in shock now. "Help them. Please."

She nodded and strode over the ruined room without disturbing a single shard of glass. Groaning, Jason forced himself away from the wall. Taking a few deep breaths, he reached over with his good arm, leveraged his other shoulder until it audibly popped back into place. Relief and feeling instantly flooded down his arm. He flexed the fingers of his right had as he knelt beside the girl's body. Melissa Rose. Pretty name for a pretty girl. She never deserved this.

The blade pulled free of her chest without any resistance, not a speck of blood on it. For whatever reason, blood never stuck to it when he killed a death-cheater. Gently, he closed the dull, staring eyes.

"G-grandma?" Mrs. Perron was looking up at Catherine with amazed wonder. Catherine smiled, patting her hand and speaking in low, soothing tones. Whatever she told them did not take long and it seemed to ground them slightly, take the edge of horror from their eyes. See? Death is kind.

Catherine stood and smiled at him. "Our deal has been upheld. Farewell, Jason." Then she vanished like she'd never been there.

Jason just nodded absently as he scooped up the girl's body. Time for him to do his best to explain the unexplainable.

This was the price for him to keep living. He had died but he had also come back. He should not be here. In the grand clockwork order of the universe, Jason Todd was an anomaly. His name had been written in Death's book, but at the same time, he was very much alive. A paradox. So Death had offered him a deal. Take out the false immortals that used every black magic or warped technology to evade the terror of what lay beyond and he could stay. Help maintain the natural, inevitable order and the loophole of his existence would go overlooked. This is how he paid the Rent: Removing the monsters that would sacrifice anything to live forever. Death needed a hitman and Jason fit that bill.

They all had it coming. They all deserved to die and he had no problems with that. But it always involved innocents. And that made the price of Rent very, very high.

Jason limped slightly -- his left ankle felt badly sprained -- as he carried Melissa to her parents. Their reactions were always the same. Shock, heart-rending grief, denial, pleading.

Mrs. Perron's arms thrust out to accept her little girl and Jason gently laid her in them. He slumped to his knees again in front of them, feeling old and worn thin as the mother clutched her baby and wailed. "No! No God please, no!! Not my baby! My baby girl!! No!" The words were barely understandable, contorted with an agony that cut deeper than any knife. She buried her face in Melissa's fine blonde hair and sobbed like she was the one dying, rocking back and forth. For Jason, the horror had been over quick; a fight, some bruises and busted ribs, done. But for this family it was just beginning.

Mr. Perron held both his girls in his arms, sobbing just as hard. He was a good man. He'd done everything right, paid his taxes, made an honest living, been kind to others. He did his best to protect his family but in the end, it hadn't been enough.

He looked up at Jason, the gut-hollowing chill of terrible loss almost palpable in his gaze. "Why?" Utterly bewildered, entirely mystified -- the question was one Jason hated the most. No answer could be good enough. "Why?"

_Why did you replace me? Why won't you kill the man that took me from you? Why am I not good enough?_

Jason just shook his head slightly. "I don't know. It just happens. Even if it isn't fair. There's nothing you could've done. I'm sorry."

Mr. Perron blinked at him, looking at him up and down. "Why you...?"

Jason blinked. No one had asked him that before. "Because it's how I pay Rent. Death is kind. And I'm not." He took a deep shuddering breath that made his ribs scream. "I gotta go. I'm sorry. Your daughter is at peace now. The thing that took her body-- it's dead. Forever. I'm sorry."

It felt so hollow every time he said it, but he didn't know what else to say.

He stood, heading back to the window, scooping up the pieces of his helmet as he did. It'd be getting light soon and it'd be difficult enough as is getting back to a safehouse without being seen. He picked up his grappling gun, untangled the line and let it wind back up with a high-pitched zip. Halfway out the window he heard Mr. Perron call out, "Red Hood!"

Jason paused, looking back. Strange. He didn't expect this type of people to recognize him. Not his usual circle of influence.

Mr. Perron nodded at him, doing his best to be strong for his wife, to be a good husband. "Thank you." He bit his lip and nodded once, tears still streaming down is face. "Thank you."

For a rare moment, Jason froze in total shock. No one had ever thanked him before. He never felt like he deserved it. After a moment, he just nodded, then pulled the trigger on his grappling gun and let it pull him away. He landed on another roof without his usual ease, dropping to one knee and holding his ribs. He hurt all over. This is not how the night was supposed to go. But he couldn't stay here. Slowly, he started to move, gingerly. Last thing he needed were some punctured lungs. That'd really be the icing on an already miserable night.

_Thank you._

He still didn't know what to think of that. Gotham could breed a rare type of hearty, indomitable type of people. Maybe they had just accepted this fresh horror in their lives as another price to pay for living in this cursed city. Jason didn't want to be thanked. He had killed a monster. He'd taken a child. That was his cost of living. He'd done it for himself. He'd done it because it had to be done.

He'd been thanked.

It's strange, how people interacted with death. Some accepted it with grace. Other railed against it. A few made death earn its claim on their allotted time. _Do not go quietly into that good night..._  Jason hadn't asked to die. He didn't ask to be brought back, either. He was just stuck in the middle, a second chance thrust upon him that he hadn't wanted. When he came back, he realized his purpose had changed -- no longer to just protect, but to punish the wicked as well. He'd come back from the dead to send others in his place, to deal out the fate they deserved. He'd just never realized how literal it would be.

Strange, how people dealt with death. Strange, how it could transform some people forever, define them for the rest of their days. But also, somehow, death changed nothing at all.

Jason shook the thought from his head, and even that slight motion made him feel dizzy. Sighing, he turned his sights to the west and started the long trip to safety, wondering if anyone would be thankful that he'd come home again.


End file.
